Ancient Mikhail, Bearer of the Banner of the Seventh Legion

[Captain Antonius]

So, after reading Mr. (Space) Marine's post "The Fists of Dorn", I got all excited and had to write about those boys in yellow. I hope you guys like it. So with out further ado...

 

Chapter 1

 

Mikhail’s nostrils flared as his ritual time spent in the pain glove began. As always, one of the chapter’s chaplains and an apothecary stood by the battle brothers as they reveled in the anguish of their pain. One to minister to the space marine’s mental health and the other to the physical. Centuries before Mikhail had found his own way to endure, he had tried other methods of meditation. Silent meditation only seemed to make his mind wander. A workout in the Phalanx’s gymnasiums only made him lust for battle. But pain, the pain of the primogenitor’s thoughts of failure to his father, the pain of sadness and loathing. These things brought Mikhail’s mind to a sharp focus. He could bring his entire being into line with his gene-fathers and in doing so, remember the past of the Imperial Fists long lineage.

The Imperial Fists Master of Sanctity, Lo Chang, watched over the battle brothers today along side the Chief apothecary, Varius. Clad in dark robes instead of his characteristic black armor, Chang wandered among the brothers on their biers as they endured the pain. Some were wincing and moaning, but the standard bearer of the Chapter, the Ancient Mikhail, was standing his ground against the psycho-neural device. It was known that only Rogal Dorn himself could stand the pain glove for more than a few hours, but here the Ancient was doing very well. His breathing was well paced and most of his muscles relaxed as they could be. Only the individual battle brothers knew what their own personal pain was. The pain glove knew each one of their hearts and used it against them in their own minds. As the minutes past, one by one, the brothers called out to be released. As was usual, Mikhail was the last, finally succumbing to the relentless attack on his psyche after 35 minutes.

After Varius had disconnected the last of the brothers from the glove, the Chaplain led them in the Rites of Cleansing. They knelt on the stone floor beside the biers that had held them during the ritual and chanted along with the deep baritone of Chang’s intonations.

“You are dismissed brothers. May the Primogenitor watch over you.” Chang said as he finished the rites. And then, as an after thought, he added, “Brother Mikhail, might I have a word with you before you return to your duties.”

Mikhail looked up from under his hood on his well worn meditation robes, “Of course, Chaplain.” Lost in the recollection of thoughts from his meditation, Mikhail wondered just what the chaplain wanted of him.

As the rest of the brothers filed out of the chamber, Mikhail reached the somber chaplain. “What can I do for you, Master Chang?” the marine asked.

“As I watched the battle brothers today, I saw you barely affected by the glove. I was wondering what you were doing to ease yourself. It may be another way I could show the other brothers.” His steely grey eyes bore in on the ancient marine.

“Have I done something wrong, Chaplain? If so, I will immediately return to the glove to purge myself.” Mikhail said.

“No brother, you have done nothing wrong. I was only wondering what method of control you were using. You have spent the most time in the pain glove of anyone in the chapter. Only Master Pugh seconds you.” The aged chaplain explained.

“Chaplain, I don’t control it at all, but use it to focus my mind. The pain is as bad the first second as the 100th. I try only to focus on my Emperor and my Primarch. These things are my only reason to still be alive, and so I live through the pain to serve them.”

Chang looked at the old marine with awe and then smiled. “Perhaps you should be a chaplain, Ancient.” He said with a slight chuckle. “Every time we speak, I learn something new about myself and my chapter. Emperor be praised that you are still with us Brother Mikhail. Remember that the glove is a tool that our primarch gave us so that we could learn to endure the hardest things in life. Use it like that and grow hardy. You may return to your duties.”

“Thank you for the compliment, Chaplain. It is my honor to serve the Chapter.” He said with a slight bow and walked out of the chamber.

 

The hallways of the Phalanx were naturally dark. The dark stone along its walls was carved in to intricate friezes of battles long gone and unremembered. Here and there, one could pick out the giant of a man, the Imperial Fists Primarch Rogal Dorn as he slew the enemies of the Emperor, or knelt in fealty to his father on a throne of gold. Mikhail wandered them with the practiced ease of someone who had lived there for a very long time. In fact if you were not to include the venerable and ancient dreadnoughts slumbering away the eons, Mikhail would be the oldest surviving member of the Imperial Fists. But his age was only a consequence of his duty, or so he thought.

About 650 years ago, the Imperial Fists laid siege to a world bemoaned by the Black Legion of Horus near the Eye of Terror. The battle was ferocious and bloodshed was everywhere. Mikhail, already a member of the first company for some years, had been in the thick of the fighting. Many fiends of Chaos had found their last breath lost on his blade. It was during the final assault on the Despoiler’s Stronghold on the mighty Death’s Wind Peak, that the Ancient found his new duty.

The bearer of The Banner of the Seventh Legion, a mighty marine named Castilagos strode forward without fear into the fray with the command squad. But Castilagos would go no further that day. As Mikhail watched from behind his bolter sights, the banner wavered and slumped. A traitor had appeared from behind a redoubt and liquefied most of Castilagos’ left side with a blast from a meltagun. Mikhail quickly dispatched the chaos fiend with a hail of bolts to his head, but Castilagos was lost already. Sprinting up the hill, he reached the banner bearer as he fell, and took the ancient icon in his hand before it fell to the blood soaked earth. The dying marine lay a long time watching the banner flutter in the winds of war before he died of his wounds.

With no one else to bear the banner and claim the victory for the Fists, Mikhail slung his bolter and held the ancient banner aloft as he waded up the steep slope through the murderous fire. When finally, days later, the great enemy’s fastness had been breached and the Despoiler sent packing back to the Eye of Terror, the Chapter Master awarded a laurel of piety to Mikhail and promoted him to his personal command squad to bear the honor of the chapter in battle.

At the time, Mikhail wanted to renounce the privilege granted to him and be allowed to go back to his company, but he had decided that he would not deny the Chapter Master. For many years and dozens of campaigns, Mikhail had bravely born the white shoulder trims of the veteran company. He had even started training in the ancient suits of Tactical Dreadnought Armor. But now, he was required to stand vigil over the ancient relic of the chapter and bear it in battle if called to.

For 650 years he has been the bearer of the Chapter Banner of the Imperial Fists. And, it has been over 100 years since he’s seen battle. Mikhail’s pain is to be a relic in a museum, ever living and never dying. While he might be honored by the chapter, his constant pain is that they may never use him as the sharpened blade of death that the Emperor and Dorn had made him.

 

As he reached his alcove, a servitor was waiting for him. While not unusual, it was unexpected. The machine-man spun on its tracks and faced the wizened marine. “Ancient Mikhail, bearer of The Banner of the Seventh Legion, Master Pugh requests your presence in the Grand Wardroom. You are to bring the banner and your armor.” It said in a monotonous voice.

“I will attend him shortly.” He replied. The servitor spun again and trundled off down the hallway to make its journey complete. Mikhail slipped into his room and began the arming rites that his wargear demanded. Mikhail’s armor itself was like a living thing. Its own small machine spirit had been with him for so long that it longed for the contact of Mikhails body and the symbiosis that occurred with him. If Mikhail misquoted the rites, the armor may reject him, and in battle that was the last thing a marine wanted.

Mikhail’s hands slid across the bright yellow of his armor and recited the rites in the proper order. His Mark VII armor plate greeted him like a long lost friend as it melded with his black carapace and synched itself to his circadian clock. In short order, Mikhail was armored with faith and the plasteel and ceramite of the Adeptus Astartes. His bolt pistol and powersword at his waist, ready to defend the Imperium. The next order of business was to claim the banner and make for the Great Wardroom near the bridge section of the Phalanx.

 

The Banner of the Seventh Legion was made prior to Rogal Dorn’s ascension as Primarch of the Imperial Fists. Master Craftsmen of the Mechanicum of Mars had woven the finest threads of colored silk and titanium together into the mighty banner. It would never fade and was nigh on flame retardant. It was at the forefront of the battles of the Great Crusade. It witnessed the rage of Dorn when he learned of Horus’ great treachery. It had been torn by the power swords wielded by the ruinous powers at the siege of Terra. It was there at the head of the Great Auditorium on the Phalanx as the Chapter was split during the reorganization and second founding. In several places it was punctured by warp-spawned ichor at the Iron Cage. It was fluttering on the breeze in a thousand campaigns over a thousand worlds throughout the Imperium of Man. This was a relic second only to the Phalanx itself in age. Were it to be lost, the Legion would destroy itself fighting to reclaim it.

The Banner resided in the Hall of Relics deep in the bowels of the Phalanx along with the other relics of the Chapter, like the bones of Rogal Dorn’s own fist. The exterior entrance was guarded by a quartet of heavily armed Terminators. As Mikhail approached, he was scanned by the Phalanx’s own Machine Spirit. It was a disdainful thing that only the Master of the Forge had any relation to and it let Mikhail know it as the phase variance scanner lingered longer than it had too and made Mikhail’s innards shake.

“I am Mikhail Dworshak, bearer of the banner. Let me pass.” He stated. The doors to the reliquary opened for him and the Terminators watched as he past. The reliquary was awash in incense and flickering candles of wax. The venerable Dreadnought Lemartes stood in the center of the room, its machine eyes glowing a deep red as it turned to focus on the intruder. Its assault cannon chambered a round with a metallic click and the ignitor for its heavy flamer sparked into life.

“Who goes there?!” the living machine shouted. “Proclaim yourself!”

“It is I, Mikhail, Lemartes. The Bearer of the Banner. I am called by the Chapter Master to take it up and ready for war.” He said, hoping the ancient dreadnought would remember him.

“Ah…” the dreadnought said in a noisy machine-metal voice. “It has been some time since you have been to see me, Brother. Why is that?” it asked. Even in this ancient marines life there is loneliness.

“I have not been called to enter the reliquary for many months, Brother. I am sorry that I have not come to visit with you and share your wisdom. I will make amends, my brother. But now, I must claim the Banner of the Seventh and report to our Master.” Mikhail explained.

The mighty dreadnought seemed to nod slightly and turned to its left, waving its huge fist at the wall. “It is there, where it has always been. Take it and with it the honor of the Chapter. Bring it back or die.” The huge machine said through its speaker vents.

Mikhail wasted no time. He lit the seven votive candles under the altar where the banner sat perched, said a litany of names he had memorized of the other bearers of this banner as a remembrance of their faithful service, and took the ancient relic from the altar. As he took the staff in his hands, a familiar reflection of voices past washed over him. A thousand thousand battles echoed in his ears as he raised it aloft once more. Bringing the banner back to himself, he rolled it gently and placed the banner itself into a ceramite tube and locked the lid with his own blood as a key. There it would rest until battle was upon the field.

“I shall return with our venerated relic, Lemartes. I so swear it on the pain of my own death.” Mikhail said.

“And I shall hold you to it, Space Marine.” The ancient said as Mikhail left the reliquary

[KEEPER]

That's one great story. I wanna read more!

[Terminatorinhell]

what is a phalanx?

[13skullz]

what is a phalanx

 

well, technically a military formation but i think what the OP is talking about is THE phalanx or the IF's FM right?

 

IIRC... :)

 

 

but good story.

[Captain Antonius]

Thanks you guys! The Phalanx is the space-borne fortress monastery of the Imperial Fists. It was constructed during the Dark Age of Technology, so many of its secrets have been lost to time. It is discussed in several forums here, if you want more information about it.

 

I will try to get the second chapter uploaded today. Again, thanks for the pat on the back.

[Captain Antonius]

Chapter 2

The wardroom was abuzz with the preparations for a massive invasion. Mikhail doffed his helmet and hung it at his waist as he entered. Servitors and chapter serfs moved quickly in between the great leaders of the chapter. They carried scrolls and ancient maps of the planet in question. Vladimir Pugh was resplendent in his bright yellow armor. It was adorned with the gold of his office and the brilliant white of his cape; his black artificer crafted powerfist was dormant but flicked from point to point on the holomap of the battle zone. Captain Malachi of the 1st Company looked up and nodded to him in acknowledgement as the ancient entered the wardroom from his suit of terminator armor, his eyes beaming with anticipation of the battle to come.

(Author’s note: Captain Lysander is lost in the warp at the time of this battle and considered dead to the chapter. Captain Malachi is simply a replacement of my own imagination.)

Captain Utrel; commander of the 5th battle company watched and listened as the chapter master mapped out the scenario playing out on the planet and made mental notes of where the other units would be so as not to cause any fratricide. Chaplain Lo Chang, now in his black artificer embellished armor with his crozius at his side, stood near Pugh and offered counsel. The Chief Librarian Brother Nathaniel stood near the railing of the wardroom. He looked out over the bustling command bridge of the mighty space-borne fortress-monastery. His hands clasped behind the back of his bright blue Mk VI plate as he listened to the echoes of the warp. The psychic hood that was about his head positively pulsed with power, its cables snaking directly into his hairless skull and probing the depths of his brain.

Mikhail’s attention was caught by the Imperial Fists First Sergeant and leader of his squad, Taelos. He motioned for him to join the rest of the squad near the bulkhead. Taelos had been fighting for the Fists for almost 4 centuries and the Roll of Honor held his name and deeds from many campaigns. His wisdom and leadership exceeded Mikhail’s and the honored ancient was glad for it. Since the last First Sergeant had been beheaded by a Khornate Bloodthirster on the blood stained fields of Ulanni Prime 160 years ago, Taelos had been the one to take up the reins of leadership in the Chapter Command Squad. Master Pugh had personally selected the veteran sergeant to lead his squad due to his no-nonsense approach to offering counsel. He was not afraid to question or pull any punches when it came to helping the venerable chapter master in making the tough choices, a quality that made him stand alone within the chapter.

Not long ago did Taelos return from his Warrior’s Pilgrimage, an honored tradition within the Fists where a warrior would seek out a rumored arch villain or hallowed ground in order to find the true warrior beneath the armor of the Astartes. Not even Pugh expected him to return from such a perilous journey, but after his return to the chapter and the full examination of mind, body, and soul, he was awarded a finely crafted Thunderhammer to wield as his own.

“Ancient, I’m glad to see you.” Taelos said shouldering his white headed thunderhammer. “The

Phalanx

makes ready for war. The 2nd and 4th companies are holding the line at Quixnos Hive, but they are overwhelmed. Rumor has it that there could be 2 million Orks in the system ready to fall upon them. Their starships, the Battlebarge

Imperator Illuminati

and the strike cruiser

Mailed Fist

were engaged with the 2 Ork battleships that came out of the warp unexpectantly. They are nearly overmatched and if they fail to remove the

xenos

ships from orbit, we may loose both companies in the coming battle.” He explained in hushed tones as the senior leadership of the Imperial Fists went on making plans for the coming war.

“Mikhail, the Phalanx is nearly to the Quixnos system and then the battle will be joined. If need be, the

Phalanx

will help the two warships defeat the Orks in orbit and then it will be our turn. From what I gather so far from the meeting is that the 5th will be deployed by drop pod behind the Orks as they gather to lay siege to the Hive itself. Then the heavy armor and senior leadership will deploy behind them. We will crush the Orks on the anvil of the 2nd and 4th companies. I believe that I heard that elements of the First Company that are still aboard will be held in reserve, Much to Captain Malachi’s lament.” The wizened First Sergeant explained with a smile that seemed to bunch up around his pulsating red bionic eye.

“Sounds like a plan our venerated Primarch would be proud of. How long till we slip from the empyrean and take the fight to the greenskins?” Mikhail asked.

“Not long now. Once our Master has decided on the plan for certain, he will let us know. For now we wait.” He declared.

Pugh and his commanders discussed the battle plan, tossing ideas around like a ball. Finally, Pugh had decided that the combination of elements that they had discussed would work. He called for an astropath and dictated a message to be sent to all Imperial Fist Commanders both in orbit and on the surface of Quixnos VI. He then dismissed his captains and bid them prepare for war. Turning to his command squad, a smile crossed his scarred face. Sergeant Taelos brought the squad to attention and balled fists rang over the blood red aquilas on their chests in salute.

“Stand easy, Sergeant.” Vladimir said. “Men, we are on the brink of a mighty Waaagh on the agri-world of Quixnos VI. Two of our battle companies are bleeding tonight because they were close enough to this little backwater world to try to save it. They had no idea that the foe they were clashing with was anywhere as massive as this. Our brother’s ships are battered and broken. We come to our brother’s aid and the aid of the Imperium. If we were to lose here, the three hive worlds and one forge world in this sub sector would starve to death, not to mention be caught up as the next target of this Waaagh. The loss of this planet is unacceptable. While the walls of the Imperial Guard might fail…Fists do not!” he said slamming his armored fist into the palm of his dormant powerfist.

“Sergeant, prepare your squad to escort me to the surface. Chaplain Chang, Chief Apothecary Varius, and Chief Librarian Nathaniel will accompany us.” He glanced over the veterans of his personal bodyguard, his eyes settling on one of them. “Titus…you will wear the black armor of Sigismund for the honor of the Chapter. I look to you to be our champion in this coming campaign. Your skill with the blade is unmatched by any brother in the chapter.” He said his eyes narrowing.

“I am honored, Master. I will die before I fail our Chapter.” Titus said with his head bowed.

Pugh looked satisfied enough with his decision and turned back to Taelos. “We will deploy with the Predators, Vindicators, and Whirlwinds via Thunderhawk and then link up with our Prometheus class Land Raider when it is brought down. From there, we will direct the destruction of these

xenos

scum.”

“Your will, eminence.” The veteran sergeant said as he and his squad’s fists clenched in salute. “It will be done for the Emperor and Dorn.”

“For the Emperor and Dorn.” The Chapter Master replied and turned back to the holomap.

 

Chapter 3

 

Ancient Mikhail’s fingers danced over the ceramite container that protected the ancient icon of his chapter’s honor as he waited in the descending thunderhawk. The rumble of the mighty craft’s engines rocked him gently as he prepared his mind. The Imperial Fists 2nd and 4th companies had been fighting on Quixnos VI for weeks already by the time the

Phalanx

had arrived to help finish off the

xenos

and return the world to the light of the Emperor. It had only been this arrival that had brought the Ancient to the warfront again. Not in over 100 years had he participated in battle, his duty requiring him to remain aboard the Fist’s huge starship/monastery.

This campaign would be no different than all those in the long and storied history of the seventh legion. This would be just another mark on the banner that he carried to extol the mighty deeds of the Emperor’s just servants as they carried on his glorious campaign to reunite the galaxy under the banner of mankind. The 5th company had already deployed by drop pod and was in the rear lines of the Orks as they laid siege to the hive spire. Mikhail and the Chapter Command Squad were on their way with the heavy armor to join up with them and push the greenskins onto the razor edged blades of the 4th and 2nd companies.

The space lanes above the planet were now in the Fists’ control thanks to the combined firepower of the Imperial Fists battle fleet on station. The Battlebarge

Imperator Illuminati

and Strike Cruiser

Mailed Fist

had managed to destroy one of the Orky battleships before the

Phalanx

arrived, but they had sustained massive damage from the other one. The

Mailed Fist’s

engines were unresponsive as it turned about its own axis, its weapons unable to come to bear. The

Imperator Illuminati

vented precious atmosphere as it tried to turn into the foreboding Battleship. Then the

Phalanx

emerged from the warp right on target and brought its massive guns to bear. The startled battleship made a catastrophic mistake and broke off from the

Imperator Illuminati

to engage the giant fortress. As the titanic shells ripped through the funky warp shields of the Orks battleship, the

Imperator Illuminati

lent its massive Nova Cannon to the onslaught, but it was its last gasp. The aged ship’s wounded fusion reactor lost its spark of life with the mighty blast and shut down, leaving the Battlebarge powerless and dead in space. But the giant plasma blast ripped through the heart of the Orkish construct and it detonated in a massive fireball that looked like a second sun to the hordes on the ground below.

Now isolated on the planet’s surface, the Waaagh threw itself at the Hive Spire in order to capture vital supplies. While basically stopped at this point, the Waaagh was at its most dangerous, as it could easily regain momentum if it captured the planet and its populace. It was then that Pugh called for the orbital bombardment of the Orky strongholds. It was there that the Meks were trying to quickly construct the fearsome Stompas that could easily send the Space Marines running for cover. These would be the targets of the

Phalanx’s

guns once the

Imperator Illuminati

and

Mailed Fist

were recovered and docked with the fortress. It was said that the guns of the

Phalanx

could destroy entire worlds, so the bombardment of a few Orky hide-a-ways would pose no problem.

Mikhail’s thunderhawk rocked violently as it was hit by incoming fire from the Orkish hordes below and it brought him back to the present as his helmeted head bounced off his seat restraints. Mikhail heard his chapter master, Vladimir Pugh, through the vox bead at his ear that they were mere moments from landing and to prepare themselves. Muscles bunched under his armor as he relished the thought of this fellow brothers and himself in the midst of the fighting.

Mikhail quickly opened the ceramite tube and unsheathed the banner. Attaching it firmly to the ironwood pole, he said the rite of consecration under his breath as he felt the thunderhawk’s nose pitch up to slow their descent rapidly. Detaching his harness, he drew his Powersword with his free hand and stood in the rocking gunship along with his battle brothers.

Pugh touched the side of his white helmet as the pilots of the thunderhawk reported the scene. The twinlinked heavy bolters outside the passenger compartment began signing a cacophony of death as the thunderhawk gently touched down in a cloud of rolling dust. The assault ramp began to fall to the blood soaked ground with a hiss of hydraulics.

“It seems the Orks have seen us coming in and are here to greet us.” Vladimir said as he drew his bolt pistol. “Imperial Fists, forward into battle! For the Emperor!” he shouted through the vox. The rest of the command squad, including Chaplain Lo Chang, Chief Apothecary Varius and First Sergeant Taelos sprinted out of the gunship’s gaping maw echoing Pugh’s battlecry, their bolt pistols ringing as they closed with the enemy. Orks were rushing to combat the new arrivals, their sluggas making a lot of noise, but their projectiles bouncing off the consecrated armor of the Fists. Mikhail was right on the heels of the command squads lead elements, the mighty Banner of the Seventh Legion proudly waving in the fires of battle again.

The advancing mob of slugga boyz was turned to a bloody ruin by the headlong charge of the Chapter Master’s Command squad. Bodies flew in the air as Taelos’ thunderhammer slammed home in mighty swings, the curses of Dorn himself on his tongue. Librarian Nathaniel immolated a huge Nob with his thoughts; the only thing left was the scorched power klaw on the ground, still snipping at the air. Chaplain Chang sang the Litany of Hate to the oncoming Orks and reveled in the burning blood on his flashing crozius. Titus’ black armored form danced from kill to kill as his Powersword struck home with ruthless efficiency.

The thunderhawk lifted off and strafed the hordes as it returned to the

Phalanx

to pick up ammunition for the besieged 2nd and 4th companies, leaving the marines to consolidate with the already deployed marines of the 5th.

Mikhail had not once had to use his Powersword against the raging enemy. He stood alone and tall holding the ancient relic of the chapter. The command squad had done its duty in the shadow of their prized relic. The Orks fell back against the fury of Pugh and his veterans to regroup while the marines began to move out toward the armor landing zone and their transportation to the front lines. Only Mikhail’s armor was clean now. The others were covered in the sticky ichor of their enemies, their close combat weapons drenched in blood.

“Not bad for a bunch of Orks.” Taelos said as he clapped Mikhail on the shoulder guard.

“I’ve seen better, First Sergeant.” Said the ancient space marine. “You remember the time we landed in the middle of those…”

“Get down!” the First Sergeant screamed as a previously unnoticed Deff Dred clanked over a small rise and fired its missiles as the squad, beginning to advance on them. The squad reacted to his exclamation as a group of deadly veterans would, but the veteran Samael was in the direct line of fire. He died in a screaming explosion of ceramite and gore as the anti-tank missile detonated on his chest. There would be no recovery of his progenoids this day. Mikhail said a silent prayer to the Emperor of Mankind for his soul as he gathered the banner to him so that it would not lie in the dirt.

The squad took up defensive positions in what little cover there was as high energy rounds from the Dred’s big shoota sprayed the low hillsides. No one carried anything better than a bolt pistol, so they would have to get close in order to destroy the

xenos

abomination.

“Chaplain, you and I will lead the charge. Nathaniel, help shield us from that thing with your warp sight as we close with it. Taelos, we’ll need your thunderhammer to help crack open its shell. The rest of you, stay with Nathaniel and try to get its attention.” The chapter master said as his powerfist came to life with a shower of energy. The three powerful marines slid around the hillside to move into a flanking position.

Sheathing the Powersword, Mikhail drew his bolt pistol and took a bead on the glowing reticule of the Orky construct as it moved toward their position. As one, the squad opened fire knowing that their bolts would do no harm to the crude armor of the Orky machine. Nathaniel’s eyes closed and arcs of warp energy danced around his head.

The Deff Dred reacted to the bolts pinging off its thick armor and turned to spray them with its big shoota again. A fog of blue suddenly surrounded the Dred and it spun in its place, wildly swinging its chattering buzzsaw arms through the fog. It looked as it were trying to clear the air so it could find the yellow armored marines once more.

Vladimir, Taelos and Chang charged the machine as one from its left side. Taelos’ thunderhammer smashed through the shoulder of the buzz saw arm and then bent a knee joint backwards on his return stroke as he called on the power of his Primarch. Chang roared the Litanies of Hate as he crozius sliced through the barrel of the big shoota. Vladimir’s powerfist tore aside the armor of the cockpit and ripped the struggling Ork through the burning hole. Wires and tubes pulled from the hapless Ork as he struggled to control the machine. Pugh mushed the little corpse through his fingers and watched the gore burn off as the powerfist reacted to his thoughts.

“Squad, to me.” Mikhail heard Taelos say through the vox. The remaining members of his squad stood and walked the short distance to where the smoking ruin of the Deff Dred was.

Mikhail once again raised the banner aloft, its pristine condition remaining. Finally, he had used his weapons in combat again. This would be a day to remember. Hopefully, this would not be the last engagement for the veterans. There surely must be more Orks to kill, he thought to himself.

Pugh used his vox to reach the Land Raider Prometheus. The huge leviathan soon barreled over the hillside. The tank commander waved to them as he was replacing the spent belt box on the pintle mounted Stormbolter. As its tracks wined to a halt, the side door opened for the Chapter Master.

Pugh took off his helmet to speak to the tank commander as he descended form his cupola. The rest of the squad followed suit, even Chaplain Chang, his characteristic Death Mask hanging at his side.

Taelos lifted his face to the atmosphere and took a deep breath. “Ah, the smell of battle.” He said absently. “These helmets always take a little away when they give you something in return.” He remarked.

The smell of the ruined Deff Dred and the burnt hide of the dead Orks that surrounded them wafted through Mikhail’s nostrils. It was always the same…but different. War always smelled like war. Even aboard an enemy vessel during boarding actions, where the air was cleaned to the point of sterilization, it was war that reached his senses. Perhaps the universe always smelled of war and death and he had never noticed before.

A tap on the shoulder brought Mikhail back to himself and the squad boarded the Land Raider. Screens flickered all about the information center. Data gathered from all fronts poured into the machine’s cogitators. There were three servitors hard wired into these systems collating the data. Pugh slipped into his command chair and several mechandrites leapt to insert themselves into his skull sockets. He smiled and winced as they burrowed into his head.

“Mikhail, a word if you don’t mind.” Said his squad sergeant. Stepping to a dark corner of the Land Raider’s passenger compartment, he leaned close to the ancient warrior. “You seem a bit out of sync with us today, brother. What is bothering you?” he asked.

Mikhail looked at him with quizzical eyes. “What do you mean, Brother Sergeant?”

“Brother, you’ve got that thousand mile stare going. Are you ready for this fight? I need all my men focused. Twice I’ve had to bring you back. I may not be able to get your attention when I need it. Brother, get your head in the fight.”

Mikhail glanced down at his armored hand clasped around the ironwood pole carrying the Banner. His thoughts had been about himself and not his compatriots. He silently admonished himself. He looked up into the glowing eye of his sergeant, “I won’t fail you Brother. I am an Imperial Fist. I won’t let you down.”

Taelos smiled and put both his hands on the ancient’s shoulders, “I know you won’t Mikhail. You’ve been the rock this Chapter has been leaning on. The young ones look to you for inspiration. They know your honor is unshakable…and so do I.”

Pugh’s voice echoed around the Land Raider, “Driver, take us to the battle. The 5th has consolidated their lines but need armored support to drive the Orks on.” Looking into another viewscreen he said, “Brother Lucion…do you read?”

The Land Raider surged forward on its mighty tracks into the battlezone. Brother Techmarine Lucion, the Fists Master of the Forge, had been instrumental in bringing down the heavy armor of the chapter from the Phalanx. As the Land Raider rolled over gently sloping hillocks he received his reply. “Very well, bring up the armor to these coordinates and begin to make the push. The Fifth will be ready to support and move once you arrive.”

Switching frequencies, he called to his captains: “Imperial Fists, this is Pugh. Phase 2 commencing. Press the attack.”

[KEEPER]

Great stuff! Can wait for the next chapters.

[Captain Antonius]

Chapter 4

The Imperial Fists armor moved with ruthless efficiency toward the Ork horde. Crude explosives thrown by the Tank Bustas had little effect as the the heavily armored Predators and Vindicators crushed them under thier treads. Lucion brought his Land Raider, the "Purgator II" into formation with the command tank of Vladimir Pugh and this formed a partial armored spearhead that rumbled headlong into the waiting greenskins. The 5th company along with the armor pushed the Orks into a cross fire with the 2nd and 4th companies along the wall of the hive spire.

Smoke and fire both clouded and illuminated the battlefield. The bodies of thousands of chared and dismembered Orks greased the tracks of the heavy armor of the Imperial Fists juggernaught. The Orks were being funneled into a kill zone that would see them destroyed. Nothing would escape the iron fist of the Emperor this day. The weeks long fight seemed nearly at an end.

"Driver...halt. Pugh to all armored units...halt and stand your ground." the venerable chapter master ordered. The command squad looked up from thier seats to see just what the problem was. Mikhail glanced at his chapter master and then back to his First Sergeant. Taelos' human eye revealed nothing when he looked at him. He must have been as mystified as Mikhail was by this sudden change in tactic.

Chaplain Chang rose to his feet and strode the short distance to speak with his commander. "What is the problem, Master?" he asked casually.

"Stompa...we weren't quick enough to get the Mek Shops bombarded. They may have more out there, but the left most echelon of the 4th company has detected just the one. Looks to be a Big Mek Stompa. Probably has one of thier confounded gravity weapons. It'll chew through our armor like a grox through grass." the chapter master replied.

"What are our options? We can't just leave the 5th out there without the armor, the Orks will move to make an escape route through them to thier strongholds." Taelos said as he stood from his seat.

Pugh shifted in his seat to stare the veteran down. "We won't leave our battle brothers, Taelos. We only need to re-assess the situation. Our Primarch would do no less."

"Yes, of course, sir." he replied. "But couldn't we re-direct the horde into the path of thier machine? If we were to sweep around thier flank we might turn them. Then we could bring all our armor and three companies worth of heavy weapons to bear on the accursed thing."

"Possibly. But turning this horde away from the hive will be the difficult thing. There is a chance that we could find and destroy the Warboss and therefore turn the Waaagh into a retreating, cowering army. Perhaps then, we could defeat these

xenos

on our terms, not theirs." he said. His mind turned to the data pouring into his head as he crunched the numbers of a new plan.

"Brother Sergeant." Mikhail said getting Taelos' attention. "There is another way."

"What is it, Brother?"

"When I served with Captain Lysander in the first company, he developed a tactic to use the teleporters and thunderhammer armed terminator squads to eliminate titan sized warmachines. I never joined him in this tactic, but I'm sure that there are some who remember. It has worked in the past, and in this position, we would not have to change the whole battleplan, only add one small piece. Captain Malachi on the

Phalanx

would be more than happy to bring his veterans to the fight." the ancient suggested with a smile.

"Nicely done, Mikhail. I hadn't thought of the Titanhammer in ages. It could work and we could still finish this fight now." Taelos stepped to his master and repeated Mikhail's plan. The Chapter Master looked to his advisors for consent. One by one, they all agreed to the daring use of the veterans.

Pugh called to the

Phalanx

and told Captain Malachi to prepare to deploy his troops as ordered. Soon the Stompa would be no more.

Just then, the Prometheus commander called down to the passengers. Part of the Ork horde was breaking off from the main battle line. They had made a breach in the 5th company line and were pouring through to the armor behind them. A massive Ork lead the charge. Warbuggies and Trukks followed. The breach was getting bigger and the horde was turning.

"Move! We must seal the breach with thier blood! Now, driver, attack!" Pugh ordered. The mechandrites ripped from his bald head as he stood. The lightly armed Land Raider surged forward, its twinlinked heavy bolters chattering away non stop. "Prepare to assault! We must stop them from escaping and push the horde back to the killing zone. Chaplain...the Hymn of Battle if you please!"

The battle brothers of the Chapter Command squad stood in the rocking land raider. They sang loud and proud along with thier Chaplain. Helmets were donned and swords drawn. Battle beconed them onward. The heavy bolters of the Prometheus soon ran dry as the last of thier ammo sawed through the approaching horde. Explosions rocked the behemoth as its tracks churned the chared earth into mud, ever thundering into battle.

A lone rocket with a grimacing characiture of an Ork painted on its sides spiraled into the heavy iron treads of thier Land Raider, skewing it sideways. Sliding through the earth, it came to a stop, its track spewing off the heavy gears and onto the earth in a useless pile. This time, as the assault ramp fell to the ground, Mikhail was out first. His battlecry a piercing scream of rage.

His powersword cleaved through the Orks as he rushed toward them, his precious banner fluttering behind him as he held it high with his off hand. Blood spattered him as thier thick hides were torn asunder by his hissing blade. He lost sight of most of his squad, but his autosenses in his helmet let him know that they all still lived. The Orks were larger than most he had fought before. Mostly the Nob size. They wielded huge axes and snapping power klaws. The battle raged around him. He only dimmly heard bolters and sluggas. There was the occasional

snap-freem

of the twinlinked lascannon from the other land raider, but it was screaming and gurgling death of the Orks around him that filled his senses.

Suddenly, he was aware of being pulled down. Two Nobs were pushing down on his shoulders...his powersword fell from his grip as he felt the knife pierce the flexible joint in his armpit. "Primarch...help me." he gasped.

On his back now, Mikhail held on with all his might to the ironwood pole that held the banner. The Orks slammed thier huge axes into his chest and legs. His right arm was useless as the nerves has been severed and blood spurted from his artery across the now mud covered yellow of his chest plate. He could not let the banner go lest they take it. Pain streamed into his mind as his left leg was shattered, the ceramite buckling under the relentless pounding.

Pain...

Tears welled in his eyes as his autosenses blackened. His helmet was being smashed, the lenses burst inward.

His Mark VII suit howled in pain in his ears as his right hand was severed from his body. The armor was breaking down.

'Imperial Fist...use the pain...destroy the enemy...use the pain...'

An echo through his mind...a voice he seemed to recall. Who was it?

Pain flooded his mind and he recalled the last banner bearer before him. Along time he watched the banner flutter in the winds of war before departing to sit with the Primarch at the right hand of the Emperor. Mikhail reached through the pain and with all his might, snapped a frag grenade off of his belt and thrust it through the gaping maw of a blood crazed Nob that was screaming a horrible Waaagh.

The Ork stopped yelling immediately and began to fall backwards. The greenskin's head and most of its shoulders exploded in a gout of red gore and fire. Mikhail held onto the beast's belt as the massive Ork fell and it raised him up onto his one good leg. The banner now lay on the ground, the blood of its bearer and the blood of its enemies staining the ancient relic.

"Mikhail!" came the shout across the battlefield. Taelos was thundering through the remnants of the horde, thier green bodies flying several meters in the air, as he tried to reach him.

Mikhail drew his bolt pistol and let fly with several bursts and killed the other Nob that had been beating him. As his bolt pistol ran dry, he dropped it and tore his cracked helmet from his bloodied brow. With only his one good arm, he flung his helmet at a huge nob.

"You wanna a good fight!? Come get some you xeno scum!" he screamed as his helmet bounced off the crude iron gob. His hand deftly drew his combat knife and readied himself for the coming charge.

The Nob was no ordinary Nob. As the huge creature turned, he saw the Champion Titus impaled on its power klaw. Titus' powersword was lodged deep in the animals' side, but it had failed to slay the giant of a beast. Blood streamed from the wound as he roared. With a flick of its wrist, Titus' body spun off in two directions.

Fear was no real matter for the aged Space Marine. He had faced death on a thousand worlds against a thousand foes. This Ork was just another enemy of the Emperor of Mankind. If it was here he was destined to die, then here it would be, but Mikhail vowed that it would be with honor.

The Warboss charged the wounded banner bearer, his red eyes glowing with hatred. Mikhail raised up on his good leg as much as he could and braced for the impact.

'Imperial Fist...use the tools I have given you...'

Mikhail's eyes narrowed and time seemed to slow. He scanned the battlefield. Taelos was engaged with three buzzsaw wielding Orks, Apothecary Varius was on one knee blazing away with his bolt pistol as he cradled the head of Librarian Nathaniel, both Master Pugh and Chaplain Chang were no where to be seen, the banner was laying in the ever reddening earth...the banner.

The Warboss reached him with a bound. Mikhail dropped his combat knife and raised the banner from ground and planted the end in the dirt. He slumped to his knees as the pole impaled the onrushing Ork. The power klaw reached out and grabbed Mikhail by the chest and squeezed, his armor buckling under the strain of the massive snapping jaws. The huge wieght of the beast slammed him to the ground knocking the air from his lungs and the senses from his mind. The warboss gurgled and spit blood as the banner pole burst from his back.

Mikhail awoke to Varius kneeling over him. His helmet was off and he could see his dark green eyes and pale features. Mikhail felt as if he couldn't breathe, like he was drowning. He coughed up blood and it filled his mouth with the bitter copper taste.

"Don't speak, Brother." Varius said. The Apothecary's servo arm was holding a clear blood filled bag and a tube ran into Mikhail's neck. "Your lungs were pierced by the enemies weapon. You don't have much time. If I could get you to the

Phalanx

there might be a chance."

Mikhail's eyes darted around the body filled battlefield. 'The banner...where is the banner!' he thought.

A spasm shook the ancient space marine as his damaged suit threw the last of its combat drugs into his badly damaged system. 'It must have been taken...oh, no...I've let the Chapter down...my honor...I can't die like this...' Mikhail thought.

His body rocked uncontrollably as his muscles and hearts began to be oxygen deprived. Blood was flowing freely from his mouth now. He kept looking around himself to find the ancien icon of his chapter.

A flutter caught his eyes as they were beginning to grey around the edges of his sight. Taelos, the indominitable First Sergeant, held the sacred banner in his blood stained hands, the pole was missing.

"My friend." the First Sergeant said as he approached and knelt by Mikhail's side.

The Ancient gathered all the pain he was feeling and reached with his left hand. His gauntled fingers brushed the ancient threads of the banner. A small smile crossed his blood flecked lips.

"You will be remembered, Mikhail. The Banner will fly again, of that have no doubt. You have saved us. You killed the Warboss and his army is fleeing the field. Our Master leads the fight as I speak. The Imperial Fists are victorius once more. Your sacrifice here will be remembered as only a hero of the chapter might."

"Hurry, Taelos. He's loosing conciousness." Varius said coldly.

Mikhail's eyes moved to the mighty banner. He could see his own blood mixed with the tiny threads...forever a part of the chapter...

'No, Imperial Fist...you have done your duty with honor...but there is work yet to be done...'

"I'll see you again soon, my friend." Taelos said as Mikhail's body stiffened, his teeth bared in a painful grimace and then softened.

Taelos watched the ancients body for a time to see if he was really gone. He was ever drawn to the old eyes...the eyes that never left the banner in over 800 years. "You will take him to the

Phalanx

and inter him in a dreadnought, yes, Apothecary?" he said matter-of-factly.

The Apothecary looked up from his ministrations. "That is for the Master to say, First Sergeant." he said coldly. He looked into the eyes of the wisened sergeant and nodded. "I'll take him to the

Phalanx

and put him in stasis. Depending on what Master Pugh says, I'll do what needs to be done. His fight today is definatly over. He'll not survive much longer without proper care in the Apothecarium."

[Pulse]

I really enjoyed reading the story Antonius. Its a shame its only four chapters long but it was definately a very good read. I loved the characters and the images of the battle i got were clear.

 

Write more. <_<

[Captain Antonius]

Thanks for the input.

 

I had thought about possibly making Mikhail into a dreadnought, but wasn't sure. Let me know if this is an option you guys might like me to explore.

[KEEPER]

I would be interested in seeing him make the leap to dreadnought.

[Captain Antonius]

I might have to change the end of the last chapter to make that happen. I mean if he dies, can he be reborn in the sarcophagus of a dreadnought? I thought you just had to be mortally wounded and not all the way dead yet. You understand what I'm getting at? I think that the apothecary probably has some stuff on him that would keep his brain alive while his body died (this is 40000 years in the future mind you).

 

Its an interesting concept. I'll have to do some more research before I begin again.

[Snozz]

Dreadnought, Dreadnought, Dreadnought!

 

:D

 

Great story, fantastic read, more please. :)

[Captain Antonius]

Hey, just letting you guys know, I edited the end of the 4th chapter, so that Mikhail lives. I'll be working on the next chapter for a while yet before I get it posted.

[KEEPER]

Looking forward to reading the next chapter!

[Tantum]

nice story, if you want to continue you will need a damn good reason, something like a mighty revenge or some quest..vision stuff...anything to make Mikhail go on and keep killing for the emperor...anywayz looking forward to read the next chapter :)

[Captain Antonius]

Chapter 5

 

 

Techmarine Johannsen’s servo arm whirred with mechanical precision as it torqued down the last bolt on the sarcophagus. His one still human hand slid across its engraved surface and felt the thrumming power behind the admantium plate. The glowing red mechanical eye replacement that he had given himself on completion of his studies with the Ad Mech, peered into the complicated wiring diagrams and layouts of the ancient machine as his slender mechandrites from his bionic left hand slid into sockets unseen and connected him directly to the machine’s tiny machine spirit. Everything seemed to be in working order, he only needed to get the rest of the internment squad organized to get the rites of ignition started so that the Omnissiah could be worshiped properly.

 

Chief Apothecary Varius leaned in close from his place at Johannsen’s side on the catwalk. Through the tiny slit covered with nearly three inches of bulletproof glass, the red glow from within told him that the ancient marine still lived through the implantation process. It was a process not that much removed from the implantation of the genetically engineered organs that made him a space marine in the first place. All was in readiness.

 

Captain Lysander, newly returned to the chapter from his imprisonment and subsequent torture on the world of Medrengard at the hands of the vile Iron Warriors, strode purposefully down the dark corridors of the Phalanx. He was clad only in his meditation robes as the Master of the Forge had not finished putting together his new suit of Terminator armor or a suit of power armor. His white hair was steadily regrowing on his scarred scalp, but it was only a fraction of what was there before Klamasou the torturer took his scalp to put on his wall. Klamasou would soon regret not taking his whole head when he had the chance.

 

As he entered the sacred chamber, he bowed to a golden effigy of the Emperor and made the sign of the aquila. Incense and candles surrounded the huge form of the inactive dreadnought. Johannsen and Varius were already waiting for him so they could begin the sacred ceremony.

 

“Captain, I’m glad that you are the one to induct him into the ancient brotherhood. He is the last of our chapter to serve with you before you went missing. I’m sure that he will add to your company of honored veterans.” Varius said. “I was the one to take him from the battlefield. He has not awoken from the coma I put him in there on the field in order to save what I could. It has been seven years that his broken body has been in stasis. It was much withered by the time the Master of the Forge could get a suitable replacement body for him.”

 

“And his geneseed? Does it remain with him, Apothecary?” Darnath said, his eyebrows raising a notch.

 

“No, my Lord. His progenoids have already been implanted in another. Scout Hastas, I believe. He is already taking on Mikhail’s stoicism it seems. Scout Sergeant Hadriel thinks that he might be picking up residual memories already. Quite early by all accounts, but the Librarium has cited Hastas as having a small psychic ability. Nothing that drugs cannot suppress, but nothing large enough to consider him Librarian material.”

 

Lysander nodded and looked at the dreadnought body with sad eyes. Mikhail had been a promising veteran in his company before he left on that damned mission. Mikhail had grown from that to the bearer of the Chapter Banner, a trusted member of the Chapter Master’s command squad. How much time has gone by, and yet the chapter struggles on through war and strife. The good die and are replaced with more. Darnath knew from the writings of the first Captain of the First Company, Sigismund, that there would always be war. He knew it in his heart and felt that it would always be so. Mikhail would know this also. He would have no complaints to serve the Emperor once again in this body.

 

“Techmarine, lets finish this ceremony.” He said coldly. With a silent nod, Johanssen began the incantations. Lysander and Varius looked on as the first whisps of jet black smoke rose from the ancient engine of destruction.

 

Apothecary Varius stepped close to the sarcophagus and opened a small concealed hatch. He then inserted a needle from his glove and injected the necessary stimulant to awaken the ancient space marine from his slumber.

 

“It is close now, Captain.” Techmarine Johannsen said as he handed him a steel box with a red button on it with a cable that ran into the massive dreadnought.

 

“As was your lot before, it is now. You serve Rogal Dorn and the Emperor of Mankind until your bones bleach in the sun of some Warp damned planet. Awaken, Son of Dorn, Ancient of the Imperial Fists, Mikhail, Bearer of the Banner of the Seventh Legion.” Lysander said as he pressed down the ignition button.

 

The ancient engine roared to life, spewing glowing red embers from its exhaust stacks. “AHHH! I live!” came the mechanical voice of the dreadnought. The venerable machine leaned back and took two steps away from the platform on which Varius, Johnannsen, and Lysander stood. It seemed to shake its body and the hydraulics whined from the incesant pressure changes.

 

“Mikhail, can you hear me?” Varius shouted.

 

“I can hear you Apothecary…where am I? Where is the Banner?” Mikhail’s new mechanically augmented senses went into overdrive as he tried to find his way.

 

“Mikhail, I am Captain Lysander. Do you remember me? From long ago.”

 

The dreadnought did not speak for a few moments. “I remember Captain Lysander. He is dead. Lost to the warp. May he rest at the right hand of the Emperor.” Mikhail said. His torso twisted and turned as he tried to get his bearings.

 

“Memory loss is common, Captain.” Varius said turning to the venerated captain.

 

“I know that, Apothecary, but it isn’t that he doesn’t remember. He was in stasis when I made my way back to the Chapter. He wouldn’t know that I had returned.”

 

“Returned…like me…to the living…” Mikhail said half to himself, but booming with his harsh mechanical voice. Mikhail seemed to regain control of his body and he stopped shaking and twisting. His red glowing false eyes looked out upon the small delegation.

 

“Yes, Brother, I’ve returned. Can you see that it is me, Mikhail?” Darnath said stepping to the edge of the platform. He opened his arms wide and turned slowly so that Mikhail could see all of him.

 

“You’ve looked better, Captain.” He said, his mechanical sensors narrowing on his form. Stepping closer, “You three have not answered my question? I must know…where is the banner?”

 

Varius steadied himself on the shaking platform with one hand. “It is safe, Mikhail. First Sergeant Taelos brought it back to the Phalanx with your body after the battle with the Orks. It was stained with your blood. Do you remember?”

 

The massive dreadnought leaned forward, its sarcophagus almost touching the platform. “No, I don’t. You will take me to it now or I will take this new metal body and find it myself. Do you understand, Apothecary?”

 

“Brother Mikhail. Stand down. That is an order from your Captain. You have been transferred to my company once again, and as such, will mind your place. Do you understand?” Lysander said.

 

“Yes, Captain. But you don’t know my oath. If I have lost the banner, I must know. If it lies within the sacred halls of our fortress-monastery, I must know. I cannot live without knowing. I will be useless to the chapter until then. Grant me this one request, Captain, and I shall serve our Emperor and our Primarch until the end of time.”

 

“Then we shall go to see it. Techmarine,” Lysander said looking at Johannsen, “can he go down there?”

 

“I don’t see why not, Captain. He has already bonded with the machine spirit and they are working very well together. The Omnissiah has blessed this union for it to come together so quickly. Perhaps it was that shard of his armor that I wove into the admantium harness that holds his body. It might have taken a part of his old armor's machine spirit with it. That would explain why he's become adept with his new body sooner than expected. The two of them were very close at the end. I could feel it as I peeled his armor from his broken flesh. Captain, it would honor me for them to leave me so soon.” He said smiling. He moved close to the sarcophagus and sprinkled it with a bit of scented oil. “May the Omnissiah watch over your gears and motors. May It bless your weapons so that the heretics may be cleansed from the galaxy. May you never rust and ever march forward into battle.”

 

Mikhail stepped back from the platform and then started toward the heavy ebony doors that towered above even him. “By your leave, Captain?” he said.

 

“I’m right behind you, Brother. Lead the way.”

 

With thunderous strides, Mikhail’s new footsteps echoed off the halls of the mighty fortress monastery. Lysander was hard pressed to keep up with the speeding dreadnought.

 

“How is that you have been brought back to us, Captain?” Mikhail said as he walked. (Authors note: This is just a filling out of the fluff from the 5th Ed codex. Names were never mentioned, but I felt that they would be appropriate. If there is anything in this next little part that you can see a glaring error in, please let me know so I can edit it.)

 

“Our ship emerged from the warp only a few years ago. We were set upon by the Iron Warriors as soon as we translated from the empyrean and although it pains me to say, many of my expedition were captured. Most were killed in the boarding action. We tried to hold them off, but the ship was crippled and we could not escape. There were only 22 of us that were brought to the prison and all of us were wounded in some way. Fourteen did not survive the tortures of the sorcerer Klamasou.” Lysander became quiet as he retold the story for the thousandth time.

 

“I was able to escape my cell and free the seven other brothers who held on through the tortures. Had we not the training of the pain glove, I don’t think any of us would have survived. We fought with our bare hands until we got some weapons. Three of us finally made it to the spaceport. Brothers Illandor and Remanus fought bravely until the end. As I tried to get a shuttle started so we could make good our escape, they were cut down by Klamasou’s warp spawned witchery. They bought me enough time to get away, but I think they had no plans on escape. They wanted revenge and they wanted it right then…regardless of what happened to them.”

 

Mikhail stopped and twisted to look at the captain. “I see. Is that why you wanted me? A strong back who remembers those veterans who were lost with you? So that we may visit our vengeance on the Iron Warriors?”

 

Lysander walked up to the towering machine. “Partly. Partly because I need a voice in my own company who remembers what I remember. I cannot lead a company of men who I don’t remember or know. How can I direct them to victory if I don’t know their strengths and weaknesses? I might be damning them to die for nothing, and our chapter cannot afford to loose our veterans for nothing. Do you understand what I’m telling you Brother?”

 

“I believe so, Captain. I am with you. You may rely on my counsel if you find it worthy. The Iron Warriors must be cleansed from the galaxy once and for all. And for once, we know where they are.” Mikhail stated. He turned from the Captain and started walking down the hallway again.

 

Some time later, Mikhail and Darnath arrived at the sanctuary. “My Lord, wait for me here. I shall not be long.”

 

“Very well, Brother.”

 

Mikhail walked up to the doors that led into the inner sanctum. “I am Mikhail, former bearer of the Banner of the Seventh Legion. Let me pass.”

 

The Phalanx’s machine spirit did not cause him any pain this time and let him pass easily. The ancient doors swung open and Mikhail’s large form entered. Upon entering, the golden doors closed behind him.

 

The Ancient dreadnought in the center of the room spun around to see who entered. “Who goes there?” it said.

 

“It is I, Mikhail. I’ve become like you, Brother.”

 

“I see a dreadnought. Mikhail died in battle with an Ork Warboss. He did not bring the banner back to us.”

 

“Is it here? Our banner?” Mikhail said hopefully.

 

“Aye…it is here. Are you really Mikhail?” the looming behemoth said.

 

“Yes, Brother. I am Mikhail. I have come to make sure our banner has been returned to its rightful place. Otherwise, I would have died long ago, happy in the knowledge that I did my duty.”

 

The dreadnought turned and waved its huge claw at the wall. “It is there, Brother, where it has always been. Returned with honor and a blood sacrifice to keep it pure. You have fulfilled your oath, Brother Mikhail. Go now, and serve the Emperor by bringing death to his enemies.”

 

Mikhail’s iron form turned to see the banner hanging from the stony wall. It was lit by several candles…one more than he had placed there seven years ago. Its supple surface was still stained with his blood, although most of it had been removed. Mikhail stared at it for a while and then turned.

 

“Thank you, Brother. I will.”

[Pulse]

Fantastic to see you carry on this story, its absoltely brilliant. The images going through my head reading the story were so clear, but thats down to your descriptions and writing.

 

I need to read more of this now matey. :wub:

[KEEPER]

Once again, I'm waiting for the next part of the story. You rock Captain Antonius!

[Justicar Crucius]

not a big fan of the IF, but this is awesome!

[Captain Antonius]

Thanks for the replies. I'm glad you all like it. I'll try to get another chapter done this week. Again, thanks for the praise. It helps me keep going. ;)

[KEEPER]

Thanks for the replies. I'm glad you all like it. I'll try to get another chapter done this week. Again, thanks for the praise. It helps me keep going. :)

Glad to be of assistance. Maybe you could work some of us regulars into the story ;)

[13skullz]

Seriously, this is awesome!

I know that I haven't posted much, but I subscribed and I check in daily to see if a new installment is in!

I really like KEEPER's idea too...

:P

 

-Skullz

[Snozz]

Weeee, looking great, keep it up. ^_^

[Captain Antonius]

Hey Keeper and the rest of the "regulars", if I work you into the storyline, I'll need a couple of names. They'll all be 1st company veterans (probably like some sternguard but maybe as the terminator armor kind). My plan is for them to board the Iron Warriors cruiser "Wrath of Perturbo" and disable/destroy it as Lysander leads two battle companies, a reserve company, and 3/5ths of the 1st in the cleansing of Malodrax. They'll be using boarding torpedoes so that they'll get through the AAA. I thought about teleportation attack, but Mikhail can't do that in his new suit of Dreadnought Armor. He might just buy the farm over there, but maybe not...

 

A five man squad of terminators. A couple with chainfists, and a heavy flamer. If its a ten man squad in power armor, I'll kit them with combi-flamer bolters with vengeance rounds (gets hot, anti power armor bolts) and maybe a heavy flamer or heavy bolter. There will be more than just a handful of veterans, probably a full fifth of the company, but we won't be seeing them just hearing them over the vox.

 

Expect no quarter and give none. These are our most hated enemies. Mikhail will be in the thick of things if the corridors aren't so small he can't get through.

 

If you can give me a short (just a couple of lines) of history of your veteran and his name that would be great. Also, if you have any weapon preferances, include that also. Also, I need you guys to not feel bad if your character gets wasted doing the Emperor's glorious work. You will be remembered in the halls of glory.